When the River Card Turns
by romanov16
Summary: Exile from home as a teenager, Remy Lebeau has sacrificed much of himself just to stay alive. The one bright spot in his life becomes an unconventional southren belle by the name of Marie D'ancanto, who lives with her aunt and befriends him with an open heart. But when his world bleeds into hers, it will take both the Gambit and the Rogue to fight their way out. AU
1. Début de la Route

I own absolutely nothing. Disney does now. Darn the Mouse.

* * *

Carry on my wayward son...they'll be peace when you are done...lay your wary head to rest. don't you cry no more ~Kansas

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prologue: Pourquoi voler...

* * *

_Genevieve Darceneax was a little bird of a fille, a clever eyed magpie with the lovely pale body of dove; small and coquettish in the time Remy Lebeau had gotten to know the Parisian jewel thief, on this fou of a tilling. The dark eyes that had flashed with mirth as they'd raced through the streets of la Ville Lumière dripped with shadows and chocolate, twinkling like Seine with her moods: Brightly, when she was happy. Softly, when she was contemplative. All consuming, when he ran his hands over that white body, laying there in her bed, and her dark cute hair fanned around her like Snow White in her coffin; poor girl having no idea that he was the poisoned apple she'd willingly swallowed, accepting his seed between her thighs and more dangerously, into her heart. Trusting him._

_Fatal mistake._

_It had been a game for him, a pleasurable harmless game to snatch what he really need off the bedroom nightstand, its priceless links slipping through his fingers soundlessly as he dressed himself. She recovered, he figured, broken hearts were a dime a dozen in this world...he should know, having broken a handful of them himself. It was meant to leave no real, permeant damage. Certainly not any physical damage. Genny had proven to be interesting companion these last few weeks, and he admired her skill in acquiring the Cheating Star from it original owner in the first place. But all was fair in love and war. This would merely be a lesson in keeping business affaires separate from Plaisir._

_That was what it was meant to be..._

_That was not what it was now, as Remy stood on the centuries old roof of Notre Dame, body, blood, mind all frozen as he tried to think of way where everybody walked away from sadistic choice being presented to him by a hulking creature more feral than man. And not because of his evident mutation._

_"The necklace thief," growled out Victor Creed, mutant mercenary for the government. "I don't have all night." He holds out one hand expectedly, while the other's the life-ropes bound around two people. One is his brother, Henri, who was his supervisor on this trip. Who hadn't wanted to be here._

_The other is Genny, who truly shouldn't be here. Her desperate eyes reflect this. So does the drops of blood that fall like roses from her tore shoulder. She's dressed only in lacy babydoll night gown, which is dangerous close to exposing her._

_Thief tactics kick in, and Remy tried to stall for time as the bells began ringing, rocking the structure with unknown judgment._

_'Y' threated two people over jewelry?" he demanded, shouting to be heard. Through it all, his eyes move over the ropes, the distained, trying to calculate. Just how fast could he run, jump, catch them, save them? The night has a breeze to it, but sweat coat's his skin, scared for the first time in a long time, like the eighteen year old he was._

_Creed snorts. "You think your something, dotcha thief?" He swung the ropes in his grasp lazily, watching the way Remy tensed and tried to hide it. "Boy I've been at this for longer than you've been alive. And I always get what I want-"_

_Here he licked his fangs._

_"One way or another."_

_He's not kidding. Remy can see it in Creed's eyes._

_"Don't do dis," he called, even as he though he threw the necklace at the madman's feet. But he does, and the rope's drop like dead weights._

_"You've got good taste in frails thief, I'll give you that!" the Feral remarked as Remy dove...only able to save one by the skin of his gritted teeth. "Best I'd had in years!"_

_To busy hauling up his brother, Remy doesn't really processed the words through numb thought. He barely aware of cutting Henri free before running down the Cathedral steps, to find the shattered lingering of his lover._

_Lingering, not remains. Genevieve wasn't dead yet. But her life was bleeding away._

_"Remy why?" she managed to ask when he reached her, dropped beside her, held her out of simple human obligation. There's no twinkle in those eyes now, just emptying pain. "I loved you. I..."_

* * *

ce que je donnerais ...

* * *

chapitre un: Love is the dawn of marriage...

* * *

A shroud of cold sweat greet him as he jerked awake from the contents of dream and memory, gleaming off his bare skin of his chest and shoulders like thirty coins of blood silver. It shone even brighter against his scars in the Judas purple glow from his hands. And with a curse to the saints Remy fought to pulled the charge back into himself, away from the Egyptian cotton of his sheets. Throwing them aside, the nineteen year old swung pajama clad legs off his bed and pressed his still tingling fingers into the unruly mess of his auburn hair.

"_Merde_," he breathed out, when he could, when his heartrate was under control. When the images of blood and Paris and guilt was corralled inside his mind like his powers, stuffed into the Pandora's box along with everything else from that night, he lifted his head. Suddenly, the familiar red and black colors of his room -his room for nine years now- are suffocating, entrapping, and he couldn't stand it. Pausing only to snatch a carton of cancer sticks from his nightstand, Remy makes his way to the moss coated balcony doors he left open in the June breeze.

Open air does little to clear his head though, and before he knows it, he's climbing, scaling one of the cypress that grew in spares around this old plantation house, till he up on the roof, treading it nimbly in his bare feet like he's done from the time he was first brought here as a _garcon, _fresh off the street.

Somehow, it failed to offer the same comfort it did then.

Eventually, he forced himself to sit, and rested his legs Indian style on the singles, pulling a smoke from it's pack and lighting it with a tap of his talented finger. The poisonous nicotine covers his lungs with a dark relief to his brooding soul. And for a while, he let the world fade.

Until his empathy blazed, like a muti-panel stain glass had swept him by, reading the presence of someone scaling the wall from the other side of the house. Read sorrow and remembrance and worry. For him.

Remy didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge the person until his brother was standing directly behind him.

"T'ought I find y' 'ere tonight_._"

Remy shrugged up a shoulder, cause really, there wasn't much to be said that nobody didn't already know. Henri seemed to get that, and it wasn't long before he was seated besides him, sharing his cigarette back and forth like when they were _pups, _thinking they were men. For a while, they just listen to the songs the bayou had sung to their folk for well over a hundred years. The whisper of Spanish moss, the croak of frogs, the bubble of the water. Snap of the gators...

"Y' sure y'll be alright fo' today?" Henri asked him finally. "Cause we could talk to Pere, Rem. He'd understand if y' want to move de date so it not on de anniversary-"

"_Non,_" Remy denied calmly, blowing out smoke and guilt from his nostrils. _"_Merci. But non, can't do dat. A bargain's a bargain's, signed and sealed. Marius won't allow any changes."

Henri sighed, and ran a tired hand over his face, looking much older than his twenty four years.

"I know..."

Henri Lebeau tensed his muscles before relaxing them for what had to be said.

"I don't t'ink I ever t'ank y' for savin' _mon_ life, _petite fere_."

Now that got a reaction. Remy's entire body jerked like he had taken a glass laced switch across his shoulders, and his canny face cocked to look at him, plain astonishment in his glowing fire eyes.

"Y' never had too," was all he said. "Was mon fault it was in danger in the first place."

"Dat not true Rem-" Henri tried to say, shaking his head, but his brother had already shut down, turning back his head to the moon lit swamp. And by now, Henri knew enough to just give up. On that subject at least.

Reaching, he grasped his brother's bare shoulder, trying to will some strength into Remy's sinewy form.

"Go back inside Remy. Can't 'ave y' fallin' asleep on yo' wedding day. Belle wouldn't like that."

That got a smile, the barest twitch of the lips, the red of his eyes regaining a flame for just a second. Enough to feel like things would be okay.

"No dat _fille_ would not," he chuckled in agreement, unwinding himself and raising to his feet. Heading back the way he came, he paused at the edge of the roof and titled his head back just an inch.

"Y' welcome Henri."

* * *

and marriage is the sunset of love...

* * *

The Cathedral-Basilica of Saint Louis was the oldest cathedral in America, located before Jackson Square along Maman Mississippi in the famed French Quarter of N'awlins, it's pure white stone arching to heaven in a trinity of towers, presenting a saintliness the majority of the patrons this day decidedly lack as they came by subtle means to fill the seats.

The local people are familiar enough with the ways of the guilds that they don't bat an eyelash when the roads to the church are suddenly unanimously blocked and closed off, the cops who's pockets are jingling with a little extra changing making sure nothing ordinary is going to disrupt the sacredness of this event, a colossus milestone in the history of the New Orleans crime world.

Few things stay secret for long in this city, and those who have ears to hear know that Belladonna Boudreaux, first daughter and pride of the Assassins was getting bound in holy matrimony to Remy Lebeau, adopted second son and Prince of the New Orleans Thieves. The socialite and the ladies' man. Freshly into their adulthood, a handsome, promising couple.

More importantly, it would stop the senseless flow of blood that had been running through the streets since time immemorial. People would be able to walk home without looking over their shoulder. That was the main thing. A ceasefire..

That was what Remy kept telling himself, as he stood with his father in a side room normally reserved for the priest, but instead host's the groom's men. And ladies.

"Dere," Jean-Luc finally proclaimed as he finished smoothing down the purple half cape of his Anthony Peak-Lapel tuxedo. Taking a breath, the older man stepped back from the mirror and allowed his son to examine himself, slowly, methodically. His head tilted as thoughts churned hidden fire behind the red-black of his eyes. For all the nine years he had of getting use to luxury, Remy could wear a suit with the best of those born and breed into them, slide into the skin of a gentleman with the ease of a chameleon.

Still, ten years on the street leaves a good amount of blue-blood in the veins, and Remy couldn't help but think of the summers he spend perfectly happy in a white teen shirt and torn jeans.

"Now y' look like a Prince."

An eyebrow winged up at that under longish bangs. A prince maybe, but not the hellion kind he'd been through his years with the guild, running underfoot with his cousins, stealing beer long before he was legal, sneaking one-night girls into and out of his room...simply for the thrill of it.

Don't expect a rat to change his tail.

But he nodded. "Only t'anks to y' Pere."

Remy paused then, at just how true that was, at how all his life, all he had, and all he was boiled down to the moment Jean-Luc Lebeau caught the hand of a starve child-thief who tried to make off with his wallet. He owed him everything.

Every. Single. Thing.

He was careful to keep his face the professional, smooth nothing of a thief, but you didn't raise a_ homme_ with getting to know his ticks.

"Yo' here cause y' de best de T'ief Guild ever given us _fils," _Jean-Luc remarked, seemingly off handed, but never so with him. His hand adjusted his cufflinks, his own white suit, everybit the patron of dignity Remy had always known him as.

The elder man gestured with his head, "Let yo' family get a look a y' now."

Smiling wryly, Remy obeyed, and turn to where the rest of the household stood. Predictably, twin looks of delight and humor sprung onto the faces of his Tante and sister-in-law.

"O' my chile," said Mattie, the Guild's healer, cook, and universal mother. The only mother's he's ever know known since the death of Jean-Luc's wife. "Look at y' Remy, just look at y'."

Then she frowned, seeing a gleaming circle of gold in his ear. "But take dat out. Show de house of de Lord some respect."

Rolling his eyes, he obliged, dropping it into her hand.

Which then raised, brown as bread, up to cradle his face, brushing his cheeks while her own beamed above the images of saints she wore on her neck. "Yo' so handsome..."

"Don't remind 'im Tante," Mercy proclaimed, diamonds gleaming round her neck. "His head big enough as it is. It'll be a wonder if he can stand on the alter."

"Be a wonder if I don't pass out on the alter. How y' managed it Henri?"

His brother grinned. "I t'ought ahead to the weddin' night. Might help y' some."

True. Belladonna was beautiful. More so than the little girl he use to climb trees with as a child. But the innocence and joy in her spirit had turn to something cold as iron bars from the time she began working her guild. Her heart was a frozen as the Snow Queen.

Maybe...maybe he could help her, help her learn to put the assassin away when she wasn't needed, as he could put aside the thief.

Jean-Luc breathed out.

"It be time _fils._"

* * *

He didn't know what happened. How it happened.

Today was suppose to a wedding. A comedy, in the theatric sense. How had it become a tragedy, his hands stained with newly kindred blood? Even Romeo got through the dang ceremony and wedding night before it all went to hell.

But know there was nothing to do save wait to see if the blow he accidently landed on Belladonna's brother in self-defense was enough to take Julien Boudreaux's life. And end his own.

He hadn't wanted too. Hadn't meant too. He still had the taste of the wedding's finishing kiss on his mouth when the fou man sprang at_ him, _punched _him, _challenged _him_.

Numb to feeling, he sat on the steps of his home while Tante wrapped bandages round his shoulder. The majority of his family were their in the palor, still in the wedding clothes, pacing around like caged tigers, their faces a broken as he felt.

"_Mon Dieu,_ this is bullshit!" Emil hissed out. "Julien attacked first!"

Etienne nodded furiously, with the clean cuteness of a fifteen year old. "He got what was comin' t' him!"

"Hush yo' mouth," Mattie warned. "Y' don't go wishing' death on someone least dey whish it on y'. Y' think Rem want hear dis?"

That shut his cousin's mouth with an audible noise, and rapid paling. "No, I.._.mon Dieu_ Rem, I didn't-"

Remy just shook his head, devil eyes down on his lap. He can't get the look of hate on Belladonna's face out of his mind. His bride had been beautiful, walking down that aisle on Marius' arm, golden Venus curls piled on top her head the a crown of Anemone on her head and wrist. Her strong form had flowed within the white of her dress. Her face was impassive, suited to her role and rank. But when she stood before him, a twitch of her features showed a hint of the old affection they use to have for each other, and the nights he spend sneaking into her room.

And he took hope from that. That maybe they could be happy.

That hope was shattered when Bella had crouch on the ground cradling her brother head, his blood bright on her white dress., and cold despaired had looked at him. Her eyes didn't blame him...Belle saw plain that her brother started it. But they would never live together now.

"Dis was the plan all along wasn't it?" his friend Lapin asked, a hand over his face.

"No, dat don't make sense," Mercy tried to argue though her sniffles. She wiped her eyes. "Marius and Belle couldn't have know Julien would intervene. There no benefit for dem..."

Henri held her close. "It might not be so bad...de doctors might be able to save 'im..."

"Non, _flis,_" his father shook his head from the door, just returned from the Boudreaux. His groomed face looked as if it had aged a thousand years in under an hour. "It's over. Julien's dead."

Mercy gasped, Emil swore, and Mattie's hands faltered around Remy's shoulder, so he reached up gave them a squeeze, heart sinking with the rest of him through to the bayou. They all knew the law. Blood for blood. And if the debt wasn't payed for with the blood of te offender, than any blood would do.

That truth echoed in his father's gaze as it landed on him. He swallowed hard, voice thick with emotion.

"Remy..."

"_Ce n'est pas_, I'll answer for it," he told him, standing. His family is not going to pay for this. "With my life if I have too."

But Jean-Luc was already shaking his head, and to the horror of the whole house, the sheen of tears was in his ancient gaze. But the patriarch retained his self control as he crossed the room and grasped his younger son by the nape of his neck, thumb stroking apologetic circles.

_"Non_ boy, I'm not going to see y' die for defending yo' self...y' got t' run. Get as far away as y' can from here. Belle said she'll stall them t' give y' a day's start...but then they'll be comin' fo' y'."

The words hit Remy soundlessly through the ringing in his ears as the rest of the family erupted into noise. But he was deaf to it as his sense slowly worked out the possibilities...and saw that there were none beside this that allowed everyone who mattered in his life to keep their own.

So he nodded, yielding to fate.

"Okay."

His easy surrender broke whatever control Jean-Luc must've had, because suddenly, Remy was encased in his grasp like he hadn't been since he was thirteen years old.

"_Flis_...y' can't ever come back. Never. They'll kill y'."

Remy soul is too dry for tears of his own, but that doesn't stop it from hurting as he returned the embrace, taking in the smell of his Pere cologne, the first scent that ever resonated as safe for him.

"_Je sais_."

Stepping back and releasing him, Jean-Luc stared at him a moment, taking in everything about him before straightened. He glared around, furious and commanding. "Well, what are y' people standin' around fo?_ Le Royaume vient? _We got five hours till sundown!_ Allez!"_

That snapped them to themselves, got them moving, stumbling through the house. In under twenty minutes Remy was in non-descriptive clothing, a wad of cards and cash in his pocket from of his father, shrugging his trench coat on over his shoulders. Mercy and Mattie were tossing together extra clothes and cash into a duffel bag, while Henri, Emil and his father tried to plot out the best way to escape the city, the state.

"Dey won't chase 'im past the state lines I'm sure..."

Etienne just stood in the corner, looking like a pup trying not to cry.

When it was time to depart, Remy didn't let himself look around the house...he'd never leave if he did. So he only stopped on the stairs when Henri pressed a pair of motorcycle keys into gloved hand.

"Henri _non_...she's yo' baby."

But his brother shook his head. "She also faster than what y' ride. So she's y' now. Take care of eah other, y' hear?"

"...I hear," he nodded, letting himself get pulled into another hug. Which ruined any idea he had of sneaking of alone. The whole household was standing by the bike by the time he was there, though they had the decency to look away when Mattie returned his earing to him...and one of her many silvery saints, dropping the chain over his head.

He fingered it, but didn't recognized the imaged of the bound and crucified man.

"He Saint Dismas," Tante explained husky. "The Penitent Thief. He'll look after y' now that I...c-can't. We love y' Remy...please don't forget "

He shook his head as he embraced her. "I couldn't if I tried."

She breathed hard. "Get going now, y' can't waste daylight."

Kicking the motorcycle to life and taking off into the waning light was possible the hardest thing he ever done in nineteen years of life. Ripping through the back street and magic of New Orleans was as close as a_ homme_ could come to ripping is own heart out and still live.

Long after he passed through the bounds of the city and into the soft green of Louisiana, even Remy Lebeau, Devil and Prince, wayward son of New Orleans, couldn't outdrive his demons forever. Sooner or later he had to sleep. He wasn't stupid enough to check into a motel, so a flat rock was his pillow and stars his blanket on his wedding night.

He dreaded closing his eyes. But it couldn't be help. And the nightmare interrupted that morning finished itself now, mindlessly of his new sorrow and grief to feed on.

* * *

_ "I loved you. I...would've given the necklace to you..."_

_He pulled back slightly at the words, the depth behind them...and he looked at her, really looked at her. Beyond the obvious damaged from the fall, their were more signs of violence, far worse than murder. Violence in bruising around her mouth, the remains of her underwear tied around her wrists and the bite mark of savage possession on her left shoulder. In the older blood drying between her thighs..._

_Creed's words come back to him: "Best I'd had in years!"_

_And he understood. Understood the full gravity of his sin this night, and what his carelessness had cost this young woman. He moved his hand to her face, mouth fumbling for the right word to plead forgiveness with but it was too late._

_Her soul was blow from her body with a shattering, bloody breath._

_And he wept._

* * *

_Reviews make me happy so tell me what you thought and I'll update sooner._

_Okay, so here is a more serious attempt at an x men AU. It will take element from X1, X2, origins and the Ultimate X men. Rogue will show up next chapter. How was my depiction of Remy, this was my first serious go at the character..._


	2. Matter of Chance

I own absolutely nothing. Disney does now. Darn the Mouse.

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Carry on my wayward son...they'll be peace when you are done...lay your wary head to rest. don't you cry no more ~Kansas

* * *

prologue: Pourquoi voler...

* * *

_Before, churches, blood, and Genevieve Darceneax, if you asked Remy what the worse part of his life was, he would have pointed to the time when he had no choice but to attend 'Xavier's École fo' gifted youngsters.' _

_Or in his case, it was out of control blow-things-up-with-a-touch youngsters. He'd just turned sixteen...a man in the Guild's eyes. He should've been preparing for his tithing, but that was on the back burner now. Tithing was a test of stealth, of silence...couldn't do neither if a Thief's lockpicks were exploding like confetti in his hands. _

_Leaving them tore and dripping blood. _

_His bandage fingers flexed as he and his Pere mingled and charmed their way through the crystal window hall of the mansion, nametags stuck to their chests, and Pere's hand on his shoulder, steering him. Normally, Remy would've raised silent hell at the infantizing gesture. Normally, his Pere never would be insulting him like that...but with so many people, so many signatures of emotion and chargeable energy just waiting to be tab, nudged, exploded..._

_It was painful, physically painful, pressing against his senses like hot knives. Remy could barely keep from gritting his teeth. _

_"Fils?' Jean-Luc murmured in questioned, when Remy stopped, needed a moment not to go insane. _

_"'M okay," he muttered back. He focused on his breathing. _

Don' charge. Don' charge. Don' y' dare charge...Dere's to many people.

_Then more people come, more nervous kids with more nervous parents and trembling emotions. His shoulders tense._ Get me de hell outa 'ere.

_He doesn't say it, but his Pere known him long enough to know it's all he can do to keep from howling, underneath the razor thin smile he taught him._

_So they end up meeting with the Professor on the patio, the summer night air a balm on his bleeding empathy as he stands back and allows other men to discuss his future. Again. _

_It's not the same as when he was pup, being haggled over like a scrap of meat...here at least, one of the talkers had his interest at heart -he has no choice but to read the churning red-purple of Pere's concren in blaze of his energy signature. Well hidden to anyone but him._

_"Y' say y' c'n help wit' all kinds o' powers," Jean-Luc pressed, and the stately Telepath nodded serenely from his chair. _

_"We managed to help dozens of students with dangerous potential, and we have managed to help if not all. Full control however is a process -"_

_That was where Remy was given permission to duck out; head down, hands shoved firmly in his duster pockets -and for once he didn't mind. He knew what his Pere was gonna say, gonna ask for...and why. And frankly, he didn't care to hear just how dangerous he was without the word being said. He already knew. _

* * *

_Chapter deux: Juste par hasard_

* * *

Most men couldn't handle high stacks poker, they just weren't built for it. They become nervous and jittery as the fear of losing overwhelms them, drowned them. Their faces slipped, giving away secrets, and in a matter of seconds they lose.

Gambit wasn't one of those men.

"Raise three hundred."

After all, he didn't have anything to lose. Not really. So he threw the money on the pile of chips and rolled dollar bills like the pearls before swine it was, not missing it when it left his fingers. Pulling his smoke from his mouth, he let it curl like the Cherise cat.

After all, he'd be getting it back.

The man neck to him cursed, folded, and took a huge gulp of his drink, defeated.

The man making up the third part of this trinity set looked at his cards, looked at Gambit, then his cards again.

With a sneer he called the bet, threw some chips on the pile.

And the river card turned. Queen of hearts.

He threw another three hundred on the pile, cocked his head, considering it, leaning back in his chair. The money stacks was getting awful big, growth to thrice the size of original Joe's weekly salary. Now, Gambit liked high stacks, either in cards or in life. Liked the rush it gave him, the pulse that confirmed he was still alive, that he had survived two years of Exile.

And in this game, he had already knocked out the two players that couldn't handle the pressure. Now it was down to number _un_ and number _deux. _His challenger was a stereotypical player, cowboy hat and shades and chewing on a toothpick. But he was brave, Gambit would give him that. Not many would enter so late in the game, against someone like him. That meant two things.

He was dead sure he could win. And he was a dead sure idiot.

So Gambit just sat there, and let him chew his olive green, offering his best devil-may-care grin while his opponent narrowed his gaze.

"So far, ya played every hand you've been dealt," he observed. "Less ya the luckiest man alive, you've been bluffing a few times tonight."

The was a pause as he let that sink in. He took out his olive green.

"I'll be calling that bluff now," he declared, pushing his remaining chips to the pile, with the air of Abraham offering up Isaac, betting on the return. The congregation gather round the table murmured in exactment. Gambit tipped his head.

"Very brave mon ami," he acknowledged, giving credit where credit was due. "Bet y' got a nice hand t' call dat bluff wit, _hien?_"

M'sieu Green grinned, eyes twinkling, and he laid down his cards in a bright flush of diamonds. An number from the crowd gasp aloud, their phones recording just as Gambit wanted it -in a hour, this game would be on the web, easy for his family to find, to let them know he was still alive today of all days.

He made an appreciate sound, clicking his tongue and flicking the ashes of his cigarette into the tray.

"Not a bad hand at all," he complimented serenely. M'sieu Green puffed up like the hen just laid her egg, and stretched out to claim his winnings.

"Jus' non good 'nough," he finished, throwing down his cards to the table. Two queens. The man's hand froze midair as he saw the fair damsels. Then he moved to the five open cards laid in court before the dealer. Another sister pair of queens. So Gambit had a quad of queens on the river card. Outranking the man flush.

Demonic eyes glowed softly in the darkness, tuning out the audience as they whooped or cheered, and offered congregations, concentration on getting his winning in his wallet where they belonged. Then he straightened and held out a hand to his ex-competition, who still looked locked in place.

"Good game, mon ami," he offered. "Best I had 'n a w'ile."

M'sieu Green blinked, coming back to himself. Then he grin ruefully, and took the offered hand in a firm shake.

"Same here, though I'd of perfered to win," he said.

Gambit chuckled low in his throat as he stepped back, letting go.

"Don' we all."

* * *

Now a few thousand richer, the young Cajun made his way to the door of the Meridian, Mississippi's casino, up an escalator to his hotel's restaurant and bar. Like the game room a floor below, it was dimly lit, setting a slurry mood for his favorite drink-spawned sins.

Some of the crowd from the game had come up for air as well -not a surprise, it was stuffy in that small play room. Gambit recognized a gathering of female spectators, in little not-there cocktail dresses, from the way they chatter and giggled as they passed him by.

Turning in his seat, he gave them a charming wink out of habit. "_Mademoiselles."_

That got them going again, giggling and flushed with the attention before moving on to their table. Though from the corner of his eye, he could see one or more watching him from the dark -eyes lidded, hungery like the sirens after Ulysses.

"Looks lahke ya'll have ya pick o' the crop tonahgt Caujn," the bartender -a grandfatherly looking black homme- said, nodding wisely as he set Gambit's drink before him, an amber bourbon. He gave a shrug of anything in response.

"Mabbe," he hummed back, more focused on pulling out his platinum black iPhone -custom made with features suited for a Thief. Bringing up YouTube, he quickly flipped through card games...and smiled grimly when he saw his own had already been uploaded. And gone viral.

He scanned through the comments, and got that bittersweet kick he wanted when he found ones written in Guild Code. One on top of the other:

_Merde, cuz, you couldn't find an-onth way t' dropa line?! We been thinking yo dead here!_

_You luckey Tante hates computers, or she be curseing yo hind all caps._

_Are you crazy fou! Putting yo'self in the web like dis! Get out of there now! _

_Good to 'ear from y' little fere. Stay safe. _

_Happy 21th mon fils. Stay around for 22th._

* * *

He was so engulfed in lapping up the threads of home, his crazy family and his beloved crescent city, he almost didn't noticed how one of those femme in a little not-there cocktail dress had stood up, tossed her bottle blond hair, and sauntered over with the world's oldest superpower in her sway. But he did notice, and _certainly_ noticed when she slipped like water into the seat next to him, red painted nails trailing up black sleeve of his dress shirt.

_"Buenas mi hermoso amor_, you look like you want to forget the world tonight."

He raised an eyebrow, looking her over as he put his phone away.

Then felt his mouth tug, and his eyes glow, because he couldn't deny he liked what he saw. Cake inside barely-there red satin was a blonde, Hispanic version of Jessica Rabbit. A flesh and blood, _tres hot_, Jessica Rabbit. With no marriage band on her finger -and no tan line suggesting there once was one. And no pocket beside in which of store one in, any case.

His favorite kind of femme.

"Mebbe," he said, head tilted as he leaned closer to her on his forearms. Not as close as she wanted though -if she wanted that, she had to come to him. "W'at y' 'ad in mind, _chere_?"

Whatever you want," she murmured back, taking her que to slither on up to him, playing with the one gold ring in his ear. "I'm free all night."

"Hemmm,' he nodded, letting the impersonal feel of comfort press against him, the sent of cheep perfume. Bold little thing, and clearly use to getting her way. Expecting it. He'd seen her kind before, a life time of gambling telling him that she was one of those that was always looking for the big winner, lathing on in hopes to take some of the spoils for herself.

Still...he had no reason to deny her...and it was his twenty-first birthday in two hours times. May as well herald it with a bang.

"_Mon_ room okay,_ chere_?"

* * *

Pulsing around her, the rush of release kept his mind mercifully blank the next few hours, as his company took him into her, worked him around, and clawed at his back with more roughness than he normally like. He allowed it though, cause he really didn't want think tonight of all nights...though he drew the line when she tried to get him to do worse shit to herself, and all but hissed at him when he merely slipped from her Venus fly trap, and lit a smoke with a tap of his touch.

"Dat not my style," he explained to her again, tone cold. "I don' treat people like dat."

Now his glaze narrowed ever so slightly.

"And I don' care t' be treated dat way m'self," he finished flatly. "Either y' want t' some genuine fun, and I'm_ more_ dan happy to oblige, or y' can find some ot'er homme t' slap y' around."

Eyes flashing, she'd bared her teeth, though she pulled back when he didn't flinch, her own latent sense of animal weariness having her up from the bed and slipping that red sin of a dress over the body he just violated in all ways wicked. Though when she picked up her heels and underwear, she mere held them over her shoulder. With one last look and the middle finger salute, she was gone.

Gambit snorted softly, and slide on a pair of sweat pants for, his suitcase, forsaking a shirt to allow his tore skin the kiss of air.

"Y' sure know how to pick 'em, Lebeau," he muttered. " Real classy lady dat one..."

Putting it aside, he flipped on the bathroom light and took a look at himself in the mirror. And scowled at the deep gores the encounter had left behind -Merde, what had her nails been made of, adamantium? It look like she took a damn knife to him...

"Bah," he dismissed, shaking his head in disgust. Served him right...for a lot of things...

He headed out to his room's balcony -high up like he liked, giving a wide view of the city, but not the most expensive suite in the place -better to throw people off, and more practical, since he had to careful with what money he had. He wouldn't have been in a platinum hotel at all, if he hadn't felt like trying to treat himself to something other than mind-crushing lonesomeness.

"_Joyeux anniversaire pour moi_," he muttered, that tense, razor sharp smirk the only thing of him finding its way back to where it, as he perched himself on the rail. The wind was coming from the South, from N'Awlins, so he closed his eyes and let the touch of homeland brush its fingers against his hair.

As it so happened, the moment he came inside, his other phone rang in his pocket -the one specifically for work. He winged a brow under unruly toffee bangs, and fished it from the hidden compartment of his trench coat.

"Gambit," he spoke in a cool professional tone. Nothing of the boy who wanted to go home. Nothing less than a Thief for hire. He listened, eyes flaring minimally as his mouth turned up.

"D'accord. I'll be dere in un hour."

* * *

After a quick wash in the shower, to get the scent of woman off him; Gambit was kicking down the stand of his brother's bike in an abandoned lot, a good fifteen minutes earlier than expected, dressed to the nines in his uniform of a black combat suit, purple accents licking the sides of his torso under the brown of his duster. Like any good Southern boy, he'd been raised to but an emphasis on punctuality, be it matter of business or personal. Moseying his way over to the nearest flickering lamp pole, he lit a smoke to wait out his contact, and took the time to scoop out his surrounding. And felt his mouth twitch.

The lot was an old MCC (mutant control center) center, abandoned since the seventies, when the last of Mutant rights were won in the civil rights movements. Like any kid, he'd heard the horror tales of what went on in such places, experiments, abortions, the whole sha-bang. Whoever his new employer was, they clearly knew what he was. They were trying to put him on edge.

Nice try, but there was no dice there.

He continued to smoke, trying to ignore the pain in his back, till a figure at the other end of the lot apparent.

"Gambit of the Thieves Guild?" the man inquired.

"Dat's wha dey call me," he replied, straightening. And cursing himself for not having the sense to take some pain-killer.

Clothed in an expensive black Armani and cufflinks, looked as out of place here as a snowball in hell.

"I must admit, when I heard about your reputation, I was expecting someone a little...order. You don't appear to be past twenty."

Gambit shrugged, tossing aside his stub of a cigarette and reaching for another one. "What y' see is what y' get. Now wha' can I do y' f'r?"

"I have a...delicate situation that needs proper handling," the man answered. Gambit considered him, something odd running it's nails up and down his spine as he casted out his empathy. Normally he didn't care too much about who hired him for what...but this homme read stone cold in terms of emotions -sterile almost, like a doctor's office.

Gambit hated doctors. His eyes narrowed. His instincts were rarely wrong. Something was off.

"Apologies _M'sieu_," he said slowly, finally getting that smoke out of his pocket. "Mais...wha y' say y' name was?"

The man paused, then smiled without really smiling. "My mistake. How rude of me...my name Essex. Nathanial Essex."

The cigarette lower in his hand. Merde, he hated it when his instincts were right.

He shook his head, backed away slowly.

"Y' mistaken yo' man _M'sieu_," he drawled out flatly, fingers dipping into his pockets, skimming his cards. "I'm not interested in yo' line o' work."

Essex's eyebrow arched. "You haven't even heard my offer -"

"Don' need t'," Gambit said, still walking backwards. "I know wha y' are. And I know de rumor o' wha y' do. I'm not interested."

Essex clucked his tongue, smiled that smile again. "You seem to believe you'll have a say in the matter...how quaint."

Gambit stopped walking.

"...Y' seem to believe dat I don'," he murmured lowly, letting the rings of his eyes glow scarlet. He pulled out two cards, lit em up. "Dem close t' fightin' words."

"I'm aware," Essex said pleasantly. "Which is why I took the liberty of delivering a pre-emptive blow. You should be feeling the effects right about," he cheeked his watched. Then nodded.

"Now."

From what Gambit saw, the man didn't do anything -but that didn't stop vertigo from suddenly whirling the whole world on its head, bringing the Thief to his knees, clutching his middle as pain erupted...along his back. His clenched is teeth as two and two came together for him. Sonofa-

Before his swaying vision Essex's feet, and his Italian Stemar loafer were suddenly much closer. And his voice a damn insult.

"My dear boy, you ought to know better than to let your guard down with a beautiful woman...though I admit, Viper didn't need to take it quite to this extreme...you must've made quite the impression."

"Wha c'n I say? I'm unforgettable," Gambit forced out, stalling for time. He forbid himself from vomiting. "Wha yo' little Delilah do t' me?"

It wasn't Essex that answered...it was something much worse. Something from the past.

"Well thief, I see your taste in frails hasn't changed," Creed panted out, his trench booted feet coming closer. "But I'll let you keep this one...Vip dying to have another go at you."

A thuggish hand grabbed his hair, forced his face up to meet Creed yellow blood-lusted gaze. "...Can see why though. I've eaten kids with more meat on them than you."

"It's simple _chaton_," Gambit forced out, slowly dropping a hand, palm out, fingers spread, to the ground. "I got somt'in' you'll never 'ave..."

Creed sneered. "And what's that thief?"

Gambit smirked. "Style."

The feral snorted. "Boss, you don't need this joker...you really don't."

While they talked, Gambit brought his other hand down to match it's twin.

"Alas I do...bring him to the car."

Gambit shook his head. "_Non_ gentlemen -dis be w'ere I bid y' a very fond farewell."

With every ounce of concreted will, he charged the pavement under their feet at breakneck speed, causing it to erupt like Mount Helens in all her red furor, blowing his foes away from him-

And giving Gambit time to force himself to his feet and _run. _

* * *

It grained him to do so...Dieu knew he and the_ chaton _had a reckoning coming. One long over due. But that had to be on his terms - and certainly not with an unknown poison sneaking through his veins -

"You think yer getting away that easy, boy?!" Creed bellowed from somewhere behind him, above him, leaping down from a border up building at him -only to be meet with the charge adamantium of his bo-staff, swung hard at the feral middle -successfully blowing him into the building's brick front. Dieu, it was good this part of the city was bordered up and shut down.

Charging up three cards to high amounts, he tossed them at the support structures, bring the whole thing down on top of the savage man. Entombing him. For the while at least.

"Ain't no boy y' dealin' with no more," Gambit muttered as he resumed his flight. "Y' saw t' dat Creed."

Rounding the corner, he didn't stop but threw himself onto Henri's bike, no even bothering with the helmet, just taking off the hell out of there -the hell out of the city. Nevermind the stuff he left behind in the hotel room. Stuff could be replaced. His life...not so much.

But pure will could only act as an antidote for so long. It wasn't to far beyond the city limits that the trees began to dance and blur, along with the headlights of the approaching pick-up -Merde.

He swerved left, so did the other guy -somehow they managed not to kill each other. After rolling to a halt on soft grass under swaying Spanish moss, Gambit could hear that pick up grind to a halt and doors being thrown open. Along with a familiar sound.

"-Oh mah Gawd," a girl exclaimed in horror, but oddly sweet at the same time. "Uncle Logan what did yah do?!"

"What I do?!" repeated a very not-so-sweet tone, "He's the one drivin' in the wrong lane -Marie! Don't go near him -he's probably tore to shreds-!"

But a slender form had already thrown herself into the ditch beside him, gentle-strong hands were turning him over with a "humph" of effort, gloved hands grabbed his shoulders and turned him over, before running over, his front checking most likely to see if his insides were still in. And if he'd been in a better place, he would've enjoy it more -it was a lot gentler than the last woman who touched him.

Shame he couldn't see her to well...if this was going to be his last night, this little lady seemed like she'd be sweet kiss into the unknown.

With a good deal of grumbling and choice words, the girl's_ Oncle_ dropped beside him beside him, before sniffing the air like a bloodhound and going utterly still.

"I'll be goddamned."

Apparently that wasn't anymore enlightening to the girl that it was for him.

"Uncle Logan?"

"Don't tell me you don't recognized 'im darlin'. Hasn't been that long."

"Whaddya_ mean?"_

"Look at him hard, kid."

A glove hand pressed itself alongside his face, brushed his hair...and the girl made a choking sound in her throat.

_"Remy?!"_

* * *

_He ended up walking the full length around the property...taking in the moon lighted glow on the trees and the soft breeze. In fairness, Xavier's was a tres belle place...if he was gonna be locked up somewhere, better here than anywhere. Still, that didn't stop his mouth from pulling tighter at the sight of the closed gate in the front, with the weary looking figure moseying up the road -_

_He stopped, reflected, looked back with a furrow brow._

_"What in de-" he began to murmur, when the girl unapologetically began banging on the gates, shaking 'em hard as her little arms could._

_"Hey! Hey! Is anyone there. Yah gotta let meh in! Hey!"_

_Her voice was young, and bone exhausted. And before he'd thought about it, Remy was walking up to the iron gates from the otherside, and soon found himself in some wide green eyes in the young girl's face. Clothed in a white Mississippi Sweetheart sweatshirt that had seen better days, and tore green shorts, twin braids of mahogany slapped her shoulders while a shock of white bangs fell over her forehead. All caked with mud and leaves like she'd been hiking through the underbrush._

_She was younger than him by few years, possibly not even a teenager yet, and she swallowed and shuffled, glove fingers flexing before she steeled her jaw and made herself look at him._

_Though her mouth formed a perfect "o" when she saw his eyes. But she didn't bolt, so Remy wrapped his own gloved hand around the middle bar, just above her own, and waited for her to speak. _

_"This...this the school fo mutant everybody's talkin' 'bout?" she asked carefully, her voice soft, a shy drawl, her chin tilting up to try and hide her nerves. She gripped the bars tighter. _

_Remy nodded. "Oui, chere. Dat it be."_

_His head tilted, "But who y' be, petit?" _

_She shuffled again, chewing her lip before answering._

_"Ah'm M..." then she paused, sighed, and squared her small shoulders._

_But her voice was still soft. __"Ah'm Rogue."_

* * *

_Reviews make me happy so tell me what you thought and I'll update sooner._

_Okay, second chapter is up, I hope you enjoyed it...And both of Remy and Rogue's first meeting. I wanted to try something different. Also hope you enjoyed the action. _


	3. Just Close Our Eyes

Carry on my wayward son...they'll be peace when you are done...lay your wary head to rest. don't you cry no more ~Kansas

* * *

prologue: Pourquoi voler...

* * *

_When Rogue came into his life, it was with the big peering eyes of a chaton, the defensive weariness of an chat allié, and the temper of cornered rattler, biting and spitting at every hand that tried to pet her, welcomed her. Course, a good deal of that could be put down to the worse hand of powers Remy had ever seen a mutant draw -poisonous, siren skin. White as calla lilies, carefully maintained and made downy soft by lotion and hidden with snappy little Audrey Hepburn gloves. All hiding the fact that they drew the life and soul from anyone the petite touched._

_It took time...but as lessons begun, as she was placed into classes...she gradually tip-toed out of her shell. Where before she hide in the corner of the classroom, Kitty Pyrde and Jubilation Lee welcomed her to their table, to their wardrobes, till she got one of here own. Where she side eyed the teachers, and all adult staff, she soon paying rapid attention in the danger room, under the instructions of the Wolverine, grinning with glee when the crusty old badger ruffled her hair and grunted -"Good work kid." _

_Remy noticed all these things 'bout the little Mississippi skunk head -being the one who let her in the gate, he felt it was his right. So he also noticed this: Nearly a month since she come...and nobody knew a thing about the fille, save for the state she hailed from. Not her parents, not what made her run half a country from 'em, and nothing of what was going on her head due to her powers, save to the Professor and Mrs. Grey.  
_

_He was duly impressed. Girl's poker face might've been shit, but her will to hold back information was second to none. _

_Not that this stopped him from digging. Eh, might as well have something to take his mind off his own problems. _

* * *

Treating the patient was an absolute nightmare. Even spread out in half his uniform, unconscious on her gray and green comforter, he was proving himself incorrigible. Like the Cajun always had.

For one thing, he _refused_ to lie still, thrashing as soon as he was able too; striking her, Uncle Logan and Aunt Carrie, who were only tryin' to help 'im. And the one time they'd been stupid enough to try and tie his hands down…well, on a positive note, it answered the question of whether or not his powers work. The scorch marks on the walls of her bedroom (Logan fought her over this, but their small Mississippi house didn't have a guest room, and Marie point-blank refused to put Remy on the couch as they stripped, cleaned, and splattered Logan's blood with its healing factor on the worse of his wounds) were testimony to _that._

Then Marie breathed, and soften in her place, on the moon-haloed window seat, standing up in her vigil to brush his hair from his forehead while she took in the rest of him. And every sign stretched, burn, shot and drawn on his body on how life had been treated 'im, since they had left Xavier's.

Now, Marie D'Ancanto had never considered herself to be the weepy sort of gal...a fast fist fixed problems better than a tear eye. But dang...she thought...she _hopped_ things would've turned out better than this for her Swamp Rat.

The fluid loss from draining the venom attack on him had led to a fever. A high one. God alone knew what he was seeing, dreaming. Though judging from the fluent exclamations he'd thrown at them in French and English…maybe they didn't want to know. She surely didn't.

He'd only calmed down when they allowed his hand to hold the hilt of a dull knife. And something inside her twisted at that. After all…he was awful young to be so afraid.

She bit her lip, keeping watch in from shadows the room's sole lamp casted about, flickering on the friend who was half a stranger, half-hiding him in plain sight. No, helping him hadn't been easy –they nearly lost him a few times, or thought they did –but he'd won through his fever.

Her fingers twitched around the little project she held in her hands. Days ago that is. He ought to be up by now.

But instead he slept. Slept like he hadn't done so in years.

"He probably hasn't," was Logan's take on the matter, no judgement in his voice, simply fact. "Any man that can take this kinda punishment and live to tell about it ain't no stranger to violence. And violence means a life spent on the move."

Well…she couldn't really argue with that. But it wasn't off putting –look at her and Wolverine for Pete's shake. Lot of folks in this world became warriors, fighters, to survive. That was the nature of the world they lived in. And even for those who got to hang it up, partially...well it never really left you.

She sighed and set aside the project she was finishing for a young mother in town, who wanted a dress with yellow butterflies for her coming baby, instead rubbing her eyes –it was too late at night for the little stitches required. But her hands needed to be doing something at her vigil, so she ended up with his duster in her lap, removed (and thoroughly washed) when he first got here. The fight had torn the article up, claw and tooth each taking their share. And it was already well worn, meaning he'd had them for a long time. That was why she'd stopped Forrest from tearing them up to reuse them as rags (and let his brother give the moron a good smack, so she didn't have to). If you moved around like Logan thought this stranger did, then Marie imagined the few things you had with you would become that much more meaning-stitched.

Which was what she was doing now, stitching it together so that when Remy woke up, he could have the comfort of at least some familiarity. Maybe that would help the walls avoid another lashing of his power.

She glanced over at him and smiled, remembering the dazed, bemused look he'd given her before he passed out -as well as the spark of recognition. She was sure they'd be friends again.

* * *

In the fog of his hearing, Gambit could hear shadows and echoes whispering, moving about him. And he wonder if one of 'em was Saint Michel himself, come at the hour of death to offer his soul a last chance of redemption not taken in life. If so, maybe there was some chance that he wasn't dammed after all –the priests taught the l'archange was fervent advocate for the lowly –in which case, he'd have to be one hell of a lawyer to help Gambit.

He'd hurt too much, done too much wrong. And probably invented a few new areas within the deadly sins.

He given up any hope of seeing the pearly gates a long time ago - purgatory was a far more realistic goal where he was concern. That could be why he was still be thinking of thieving without the full torment expected from hellfire.

At least…he didn't think he was in hell –didn't hurt enough. 'Course there was no light in a tunnel like folks always talked about, but that would just make things too easy right?

But then…as his hearing reassembled, the voices around him didn't seem as heavenly. Far too earth bound.

"He's been sleeping for nearly five days now…" Old man again, gruff and annoyed like he remembered. Somebody else snorted.

"If he's anything like ya and Marie he'll pull through-" New voice, female, sour, like milk left in the sun, high on its own authority like it was devil's lettuce.

If he could've, Gambit would've stiffen.

"You're sure 'bout that?"

"Yes, yes." there was a huff and the snap of a case. "He has the constitution of a mountain lion…not that it'll do him any good in the end. These wild ones…you've seen the type. If something doesn't kill 'em today, some other thing will tomorrow. What the point of fixin' him up?"

Snort. "What was the point of Chuck fixing me and Marie up Carrie?"

Silence. Shuffling.

"Fine, fine," the sour voice huffed, like the whole topic was beneath her notice. Footsteps, slow and determine, an aggravated hiss.

"You've can change his bandages –without getting your head blow off?"

Okay…that explained the attitude. Opps.

"Marie has."

"You let Marie do it?!"

Grunt. "She aint fragile, darlin'. An' she the only one he'll let touch 'im without much fussin'. I rather not have another show burning the place down."

"...Fine but i want him out of here soon as he's able. I wouldn't want him around longer than he has to be. Cause I'd place money that whatever did this to him didn't come off worse."

* * *

"Donna…viens arrêter de jouer…ehm…"

Eyebrows arching, Marie paused from her work, and looked up from behind the curtains of magnolia white, fluttering in a warm breeze. He had muttered in his sleep before, so it didn't take her by surprise.

And besides…doing it up here meant that none of the interesting little tidbits that occasionally escaped from the Stranger, in blurred streams of language, escaped her either. Shuffling on the edge of her stool, Marie gentle rode a thread knife to make a small notch on the bedpost, adding the name to the tally of others she'd heard the last couple of days. She had quite a list now, of what she could only assumed to be his girlfriends: Bella, Isabel, Minnie…and now Donna.

She bit back a impish snigger. Clearly somebody was popular down in Cajun land…wherever that was. Then her smile dimmed. Probably a long way away. They probably missed him.

Along with any family he could have.

…But there wasn't that much Marie could do about that. Not at the moment. Shuffling back into place, she adjusted his duster so it rested properly in his lap, she was almost done. Her mood smiled again as her fingers flew like music. That was part of the reason she loved sewing like her mama taught her. Loved watchin' something lovely and intricate form out of strands worth so much less apart. Only to become useful to boot. .

She had just added another inch or two when her old friend muttered out the same name. In a much separate tone that before.

"Genevieve ... ne me donne pas cette merde, bébé ... euh, je ne suis pas d'humeur. Où avez-vous caché le collier? Eh bien?

Marie paused, turned fully in her seat this time; attention utterly captured with alert eyes and open lips. Cause that…was not the voice you used either when talkin' to your girlfriend or about your girlfriend. Not even close.

"Où je vais, ce n'est pas tes ... affaires ... le chat qui vient après. Débarrasse-toi."

Bitting. Harsh. Bitter. Wanting to hit all the points that hurt…she winced, fingers holding firmer to the edge of her seat. Yeah. She got that. And she also got the exhausted sinking his body did against sheets, spend after all things had been said. Or remembered.

"Genny… désolé …"

She didn't know much French…but she didn't have too. Not for that.

She didn't make a notch for that name. She couldn't. It didn't belong there.

Instead she reached over and shielded his clenched hand with her own, thumb rubbing a silent attempt of comfort on his knuckles. Bare of gloves.

And for a second...only a second...she's tempted to turn on the Powers she once hated, to slip with the level of fought for control and finesse into the realm of secrets hidden beneath the man's skin. It be real easy*, just the draw of a finger along the scuffle of his jaw. Or a kiss to his forehead. So simple.

That was probably why her hand shook with the thought, why she pulled it back, why she didn't do it -whatever was there, she clearly had no right to have.

* * *

His hands are the first thing he really aware of as consciousness slowly swims back through his head space. He can feel them against the soft but worn mattress of the bed –Dieu, a bed, when was the last time he slept in one of these fanciful things? – the first things he was always conscious of, thanks to his powers.

Though for the life of him, he couldn't make the red-blaze come to life in his hands. To exhausted. So he just groaned as he rolled on his stomach, arm flung over his eyes to block the way to wholesome sunlight that was far too peppy for a morning. More like mid-afternoon…Dieu, last night must've…must've…

He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember any of it. Or the day before that. And why was he holding a dull knife? His eyes flew open, taking in the small, homely little space of green painted walls and draped windows, the sounds of people. Slowly, inspecting, his free hand reached out to feel the quits, the bed frame, the rosewood that made it. All too fine to belong to some inn or bar-motel, like the ones he normally crashed after a job. The fact that no smaller, sleepy form lay mussed beside him solidify that theory. He was in someone's home, like a guest.

His mouth thinned.

Gambit was never a guest.

Something was wrong here. Way pass wrong.

"A T'ief in another's den better learn de ground fast, if he want to see his own alive 'gain," his Old Man's drawled dryly in his head, bouncing around his soul.

No, nothing good ever came of it. Not for him.

So whoever hospitality he was enjoying was just going to have be disappointed. He wasn't dying today. Or becoming anyone's pet. Course, that was all well and fine in his head, as he flung back the covers and tried, with silent skill, to stand on his own feet…only for complications with his own body as it damn near collapsed under him, betraying with such completeness he nearly slipped and swore aloud; bandaged wrapped arm going around bandaged ribs as his bandaged hand grasped the bedpost, and oddly finding it filled with notches. The fille in this room must've been busy.

But what the hell had happen to him, to leave him in such a state? Gambit knew himself. Knew the deadly skill he wielded: in both his hands and his power. In every inch of his body and all his senses…this was no brawl and capture that had landed him here. This had been a near massacre. But what –

Then he still. And remembered. Slowly, his hand traced the marks gorged in his back.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered. Well that complicated things.

So did the sounds of footsteps on the stairs, coming to his room. To check on him, no doubt. He shut down every sense but his hearing: heavy and loud, no talent for subtly, so defiantly not another T'ief, two females most likely, judging from suggested weight.

He licked his lips, considered his options. He wasn't in the best form to fight…so common sense told him to avoid it, if he could.

Heh, Learn your ground, the Old Man said…and he breathed out. Alright. He would. Arranging himself into a more innocent, baffled position –like he just woke up – Gambit, looked up in startlement as the door swished open and one familiar set of green eyes, framed by white bangs, lit up at seeing him. Hand's flying to her lips, cheeks flushing red.

"Well Cajun, Ah see ya remembered ya manners," Marie grinned, only a little shaky. "Damn rude to sleep all the time when ya a guest."

The tension had fled his body like an damned river at this point, and for the first time in a long time, the smile that quirked his lips was unforced.

"Bonjour mon belle petit," he greeted. "'Long time, non?"

"No kiddin'..."

* * *

_Rogue's presence was like fire in the mansion. Rough and tumble one moment, sweet and shy the next. Blazing hellfire and gentle ember, cool and alone and fading. _

_The hellfire showed most in the Danger Room, where she refused to let her mainly defensive power be a vulnerability, instead daring, diving, tumbling, tackling her unfortunate opponents, wrangling those tiny little hands against skin to snippet just enough firepower to make her blaze into an inferno. Till it faded._

_The ember part he discovered while he was climbing to the roof -against the rules, but those where more like guidelines- and found her huddled near chimney, nightgown falling off her shoulder like lost angel wings, as her thin thirteen year old shoulders shook and her hands clawed at her own head till -alarmed- he grabbed them and held her still.  
_

_"They won't leave meh alone..." she whispered, green eyes swelling with the asylum that lived there, he could almost see the shades of the psyches -which technically, he knew nothing about- peering back at him. _

_"Ya, hate it when dat happens," he said, nodding lightly, much more calmly than he felt. He didn't really have a lot of experience comforting girls...not seriously, not over things that actually matter. So Remy's hesitant, careful when he rests his hand on her back, trying to anchor her out of the sea of her chaos, bring her back to shore. _

_And to his horror, she crumples._

_"Ah ain't slept in days!" she wailed before dry heaving -to exhausted to even cry. And he couldn't promise she'd be alright...or that even he would be, with his own powers. _

_But what he could do, and did do was drape an arm 'round her trembling frame till she calmed, shuffling closer to the beat of his heart and her breath even out to a relaxed state. And then further, to where she'd curled up with her head on his leg -tamed and asleep as the sun rose. _

_When the Professor sends Miss Stormy to find em, Remy just shakes his head when she does, and to her credit, the Weather goddess took one look at the scene, and let 'em be. _


End file.
